


just like children sleeping

by talkwordytome



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Boys In Love, Fluff, Halloween, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, TWO fics in TWO days????, Timeline What Timeline, hyper fixations are so fun until they're no fun at all, soft soft boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 01:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21128591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkwordytome/pseuds/talkwordytome
Summary: “Hey, you alive?”Patrick gently jostles David, eyebrows quirked up in concern. That he has the audacity to look this adorable when he’s ruining David’s life is just unconscionable, David thinks. He picks up the mini whiteboard and dry erase marker that the urgent care doctor had recommended David use for communication until his tonsillitis is better and quickly scribbles out a single word: sorbet.It's Halloween in Schitt's Creek, & David and Patrick's plans are put on hold while David recovers from tonsillitis. But luckily, wine, nibblies, Gourmet Makes,Practical Magic, Alexis, and Stevie are all there to save the day!Or: In Which the Author Knows What She's About, SonOr (pt. 2): In Which the Author Demands All the Hurt and Comfort You Have





	just like children sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Schitt's Creek or any of the characters, et cetera et cetera 
> 
> Title comes from the song "Harvest Moon" by Neil Young, i.e. the PERFECT autumn song

It should be against the law, David thinks, to be sick on Halloween, the gayest of all the gay high holy days.

He’s curled up with his head on Patrick’s lap, feeling exceptionally sorry for himself. They were supposed to be at a _party_. They’d had a costume planned and _everything_. Patrick, he decides, is being completely unreasonable. He’s the one who decided that David is too sick to go out. And, okay, talking is impossible when your throat is as miserable and swollen as his is, but honestly? David just sees this as a nice bonus. He’s not exactly known for enjoying small talk, and for once he has an excuse to avoid it entirely. Plus, fevers can be managed, and it’s not like he really needs to breathe through his nose when his mouth is right _there_.

“Hey, you alive?”

Patrick gently jostles David, eyebrows quirked up in concern. That he has the audacity to look this adorable when he’s ruining David’s life is just unconscionable, David thinks. He picks up the mini whiteboard and dry erase marker that the urgent care doctor had recommended David use for communication until his tonsillitis is better and quickly scribbles out a single word: _sorbet_.

Patrick squints at the whiteboard. “I think you may be missing a word somewhere in there, David,” he says seriously, but amusement is dancing in his brown eyes.

_Raspberry_, David writes, frowning.

Patrick laughs. "Haven't gotten it quite yet, babe,” he says.

David’s frown deepens. _Now_, he writes. And underlines it. Twice. For emphasis.

Patrick sighs but gets up from the couch all the same. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he calls over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen. 

_Duh_, David writes.

The sweet, cool sorbet soothes his raw throat, and he feels the dark cloud that is his bad mood lifting ever so slightly. _Slightly_. He still plans to enjoy his sulk until Halloween is over, or until he meets his untimely tonsillitis related death. Whichever comes first. _Probably death_, he thinks darkly.

“Want to watch more Gourmet Makes?” Patrick suggests. They’ve been working through all the candy-centric episodes to distract David from the fact that he’s currently incapable of eating solid foods. “You love the Pop Rocks one.”

_I want to languish_, David writes, pouting.

“I mean, we can probably do both,” Patrick says, “thanks to the art of multitasking.”

_Ha ha_. 

David puts the board down and sneezes, twice, into Patrick’s sweater. He knows he should feel bad, but he doesn’t. The Halloween saboteur deserves his snot. Maybe he’ll catch this plague, too, and _then_ he’ll be sorry. 

“You know,” Patrick says gently, “I’m not even a little disappointed that this is how we’re spending Halloween.”

David uses what little voice he has left to make a raspy groaning noise, hoping it functions as a protest for such transparent mushiness. Patrick runs a hand through David’s hair and David leans into his touch, temporarily mollified. David is, forever and always, a shameless slut for hair playing. Which Patrick occasionally uses to his advantage, but David can hardly blame him. He does have gorgeous hair. 

_Well I’m disappointed_, David writes. 

“Why?” Patrick asks, genuinely baffled. “Because of the party? David, you don’t even really like people. Why would you want to go to a party that badly?”

_Because I like costumes_, David writes. He hesitates a beat before adding, _also you_.

“Aww,” Patrick teases. “Liked by my own boyfriend. What a world.”

If he had a voice, David would probably say something sarcastic to deflect attention after being open about an emotion, but he doesn’t have a voice. So instead, he just cuddles closer into Patrick, greedy for his warmth. He decides he might like this even better, anyway.

~~~

They’re about ⅓ of the way into _Beetlejuice_ (Patrick _insists_ that Delia Deetz looks exactly like Moira; David maintains that he’s out of his mind) when Stevie shows up. She’s wearing the same costume she wears every year: a vampire, which amounts to throwing an old black cape over her regular clothes and calling it a day. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold walk over, and she’s tipsy enough that it shows in her balance.

“Hey,” Patrick says, surprised to see her but not unhappy. “Party done so soon?”

“For me it is,” Stevie says, perching on the arm of Patrick’s couch. “I’ve officially reached my socializing limit. Also, my limit of watching people pretend to enjoy Jolly Rancher jello shots. And my limit of me pretending to enjoy Jolly Rancher jello shots. Hi, David,” she adds. “How’s the throat?”

_Like an amateur knife swallower’s throat feels probably_, he writes, and Stevie winces sympathetically.

“A wonderfully vivid description,” she says dryly. “What are you watching?”

“_Beetlejuice_,” Patrick answers. Stevie squints at the screen.

“Is that,” she says slowly, “your mom? Like, is she actually, really in this movie? How have I never noticed that before?”

David flails furiously and Patrick bursts into delighted laughter. “I told you!” he says, wiping tears away from his eyes. “I told you! Stevie sees it too! They have the same face, David, there’s no way you can deny it.”

David rolls his eyes and loudly blows his nose in lieu of responding. _He’s_ the one with the fever and somehow the only one who’s not totally delirious. Or maybe all three of them are losing their minds, and he just isn’t noticing because he’s already insane. That option, David decides, seems likely too. Concerning, but likely.

“Is it weird that I think Michael Keaton kind of looks sexy in this?” Stevie asks absently as she removes her cape and wraps herself up in an extra blanket.

Patrick does a double take worthy of Lucille Ball: TV, to Stevie, and back again. He opens his mouth, reconsiders whatever it was he was planning to say, and closes it. “I mean,” he finally begins tentatively, “I can see how someone might find what he has going on...interesting? Maybe?”

David is much more straightforward. _Um?????????????_ David writes. _Yes??????????????? Very????????????_

Stevie shrugs and grabs a fun size Twix bar from the candy bowl on the coffee table. “Whatever,” she says, popping it into her mouth, “I know what I like. Sue me.”

~~~

It’s nearing 11:30 and they’ve moved on to _Practical Magic_ (_may not be Sandra Bullock’s best movie_, David writes, _but it is literally the best her hair has EVER looked_) when Alexis joins their impromptu party.

“How are you even here right now?” Stevie asks. “Aren’t you and Ted the ones who are throwing the party in the first place?”

“Um, technically, yes,” Alexis says, her hand on her right hip, “but he decided that he wanted to do, like, this very painfully earnest acoustic guitar Halloween themed singalong, and I am just not sure our relationship can survive that.”

She flounces over to them, then twirls, showing off her costume. “Guess who I’m dressed as,” she demands.

Patrick, David, and Stevie all stare at her uncomprehendingly. 

“Uh,” Patrick says, “yourself? In a really fancy dress?”

Alexis pinches his cheek. “You’re cute,” she says. “No, I’m Lady Gaga! Obviously.”

_You are literally wearing your own dress_, David writes.

Alexis huffs. “Okay, yes, but it’s _inspired_ by the dress _she_ wore to the premiere of _A Star Is Born_. And I’m _clearly_ wearing a Lady Gaga wig, David.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s better than that whole,” she gestures broadly at David, “plague victim chic look _you_ have going on.”

David throws the whiteboard at her head.

“Hey, Alexis, what’s in the bag?” Patrick asks, quickly changing the subject.

Alexis brightens. “Oh!” she says. “I brought drinks. And nibblies.” She pulls out two bottles of wine--one red and one white--four plastic wine glasses, and three Tupperware containers full of hors d’oeuvres. “Ted made _way_ too much food as usual--like, _who_ is going to eat 50 bacon wrapped water chestnuts, Ted?--so I thought I’d share.” She bats her eyelashes. “I know, so generous of me.”

She pops open the bottle of red and pours a generous amount into each glass. “I’m not sure David should be drinking wine when he’s sick--” Patrick begins tentatively, but David snatches the glass before Patrick has a chance to intervene further.

_If you don’t let me have this_, David writes frantically, _I will die, right here on this couch, and it will be all YOUR fault_.

“Tell us how you really feel, David,” Stevie says, accepting her own glass and taking a sip.

“Patrick, have I ever told you,” Alexis says, turning her attention to the movie, “how David went through this phase when he was like, eight? When he decided that he was a witch, and like, wore a little pointy hat and brought a broom with him everywhere?”

Stevie cackles with undisguised mirth and Patrick is dangerously close to joining her. David looks ready to throttle Alexis, who is smiling angelically back at him. 

“I think it’s sweet, honey,” Patrick reassures him through poorly suppressed laughter. “Really.”

He leans in to drop a kiss on top of David’s head, and David allows it, even as he continues shooting eye daggers at Alexis. _I know where you sleep_, he writes.

Alexis snorts into her wine. “What are you going to do?” she asks. “Blow your nose at me? Sneeze me to death? Oooooh,” she waves her hands in a bad impression of a ghost, “_soooo scary_, David. Really. I’m _shaking_.”

It is, perhaps, a little bit less than ideal that David is, in that precise moment, walloped with an enormous, wracking sneeze. And it is, perhaps, also a little bit possible that he just unintentionally proved Alexis’s exact point. He sniffles thickly and pouts as Alexis giggles hysterically. 

“Bless you, baby,” Patrick says.

_Oh shut up_. David offers him an exhausted, exasperated, and grateful sort of look once he’s finished writing, and then he writes just a little bit more. 

_Thank you._

~~~

It’s late, though David has no way of knowing precisely how late, and someone is carefully leading him from the couch to the bedroom.

“Mm, Patrick--?” he says, clearing his throat. His voice is a strangled hiss.

“Shhh, sweetheart, don’t talk,” Patrick murmurs. “It hurts just listening to you.”

“Where’s...Stevie?” he manages as Patrick pulls off his sweater.

“Asleep on the couch,” Patrick says, helping David to pull his arms into a clean pajama top. “She was out not long after you; one too many Jolly Rancher jello shots, I think.”

“Alexis…?”

“On the air mattress,” Patrick says, pulling back the sheets and tucking David carefully into the bed. “I am under strict orders to take very good care of you, punishable by torture in the event the orders aren’t followed to her satisfaction, by the way.”

David exhales a laugh through his nose. “Sounds...about right,” he whispers.

David watches through half-mast eyes as Patrick changes into one of the waffle-knit long-sleeve shirts he likes to wear to bed. David maintains that they are one of the top five least stylish items of clothing he’s ever had the misfortune to see, but secretly he loves how soft and warm Patrick is when he wears one. 

(He has a feeling that Patrick already knows this secret, though.) 

(Really, he has a feeling that Patrick maybe knows all his secrets.)

Patrick slips into bed next to David, and David immediately curls as close to him as physics allows. He smells like sandalwood and green tea and faintly of mint, from a lotion that David bought for him a few weeks ago, just because; just for love. He’s reminded, vaguely, of how it felt to fall asleep in the car when he was a very little kid; like he was floating away on a huge ship, the comfort of knowing that there would be someone to carefully take him into their arms when it arrived, safe and sound, in its port.

“All in all, it was a pretty good Halloween,” Patrick mumbles into David’s neck.

His smile is a stamp against David’s skin. David closes his eyes, all tension released from his body, and allows this sentence, so simple and lovely, to float him away like a bright, warm bubble. _Yes_, he thinks as he falls asleep. _It was a pretty good Halloween after all_.

**Author's Note:**

> Obvious Catherine O'Hara/_Beetlejuice_ reference is obvious, but how was I supposed to resist such a glorious temptation?
> 
> If _Practical Magic_ had come out, like, a decade earlier than it actually did, Alexis's story totally would've been that a Baby David jumped off a high surface to try and fly like they do at the end of the movie and broken an arm or something. 
> 
> Y'all, Alexis was the MOST fun to write. Seriously.


End file.
